Under a Sky So Blue

He lay unmoving,
Drenched in the sun.
Stretched out on his side
At the nape of a road.

I watched him
In an attempt to observe
Respiration. I watched.
I bore my eyes forth.

It seemed to me
His body was leaden and still,
Forever.
When he suffered my boring eyes.

He jumped alive,
To search for the culprit.
Until he was drawn back
To his elemental state
And was still.

It is Old and it is Young

Then I hear you
And it's more than a voice.
Chattering slow words
Falling from form.
Educations fed between the lines
Of starving thought.
A stranger in the lines.
Frames of shame
Ringing pain.
Within the lines.
Subscribe to the high King
Lost in the din.
And then
Random breeds pure.
Breeds pure.
Breeds pure.
Sinking teeth into stories.

From the Vaults

Possession: what a desirable bastard child of attraction.

Bahia de la Luna

An inefficient defence layer left my skin vulnerable

To the now abrasive material of the sheets.

I read a book and my skin had succumb to the sun.

And a restless sleep awaited me.

Surrounded by a halo which insects had penetrated,

and whose protection I felt more offended by,

than aided.

An uneasy sleep before me.

The almighty crack awoke me.

And the bugs were illuminated, 

Suspended in their death grips.

And still.

And again.

"Are you awake?"

And again.

And ceaselessly.

I retrieved my camera. I folded my legs under myself

And observed my view from the window above my bed.

The bay would coyly retreat from the stark light

Which forcibly unveiled it.

Continuously.

I tried to take a photograph

So that I would not forget the vulnerable bay.

But those moments would remain only on my mind.

And there they hang to this day.

At least.

He Reminds Me of Villages

You never smile.

You know,

I've never seen you smile.

I would sit for your word.

But all was born was your look.

I saw your home and your life.

And the story would play out

Before my mind's eye.

You were my friend.

In the time before the sun had yawned.

And it was best

From here.

From way over here.

We said what we needed to say

And the words were ghosts

In the lamplit mornings.

Each day we diverged

And diverged again.

We shared our hollowing

And diminishing reflections,

As the sun banished the feature.

But I believe all of this 

Was built on a false premise.

Like the lie behind a smile

With still eyes.

Which I did not receive.

Jones' Fruit Farm

And what a mire this is.

The sun's radiating heat

Attenuating my state.

The sun is deciding my progress

Because I am not.

I've observed my volition peter

And the slow steady engulf me.

As a child, I would course

Through the raspberry ridges.

And the sun would lift me,

It coerced my cultivation.

And now it plays the beast,

Bestowing to me my troubles.

It is a friend,

And I

A fickle one.

As it takes,

It gives.

And I am plied

With a beaming friend.